Zero Doubt
by Burmeind
Summary: "Cherry and Diricawl Feather, 11.5", unyielding. The only two I ever made the same." The short story of Fred and George's wands.


_2 April 1978_

As one, as always, the two babies stilled, and stared unblinking over the shoulder of their mother. Before she could even take note of their first complete silence in twenty-four hours, there was a faint pop. Coming from two directions simultaneously, it announced the safe completion of the latest mission. Dual pairs of sapphire blue eyes intently followed the swishes and flicks of the visitors' wands as they cleaned themselves and deposited their identical overcoats.

"Evening Molly," the first sounded, his voice unable to hide the night's pains behind the chipper words.

"Freddie and Georgie doing alright so far?" asked the second, equally weary, but physically unhindered as he approached his sister.

"Giddeon, Fabian!" Molly exclaimed and only the presence of her newest babies repressed the urge to burst out of her chair and squeeze the life out of her wayward brothers. Her moving to stand left the newborns unable to see their uncles and they returned to the crying and squirming of barely half a minute previous.

* * *

_21 June 1981_

How do you tell a three year old that a love one was dead, gone two days prior, never to return? Is it even possible for them to understand?

Just over three years and already they'd lost their favorite uncles; the two men who they took after more than any other; the only two men on Earth whose equally trouble-making spirit could contain the rambunctious toddlers. Kisses and hugs of sorrow and mourning only went so far, yet even though the last Prewett could not herself speak for the sobs wracking her body, her Freddie and Georgie knew the full extent of their loss that night. Lying in front them on the table were two wands, identical, except for a faint crack on one, and a slight burn on the other.

* * *

_10 September 1987_

Magic is a wonderful and awe inspiring thing in the minds of two nine year olds. "No longer," they had decided, "will we be kept without wands! Oldest children deserved wands," and despite having three older brothers, they _were_ the oldest in the house, "and there are two perfectly good wands right there above the fireplace!" Pausing for hardly a moment to consider what their mum would say, a glance at their uncles' mischievous smiles, practically glowing in the painting that kept watch, told them all they needed to know: of course their uncles would do it!

Quiet was never a good sound in any dwelling of the twin Weasleys, and a sense of foreboding and dread settled upon Molly as she looked up from responding to Percy's eighth letter. Reacting instantly, she nearly sprinted from the drawing room, quickly scanning each room she passed moving up the staircase. She spotted Ron and Ginny quietly playing in her room but knowing the twins would never venture there, she continued on to their bedroom on the fourth floor, where the site that awaited her sent dozens of emotions through her instantaneously.

Tumultuous anger, fear, and revulsion coursed through her veins at the idea that her two troublemakers were violating and threatening the last relics of their uncles, yet she did not see the tell-tale signs of their horse-play and untrained magic and damaged wands. Unable to even move, she watched as the two boys wielded the glowing wands with care and finesse, methodically cleaning their messy room.

* * *

_23 April 1996_

Viewing the last painting of their heroes was the only thing that stilled Fred and George, and they sat once again before it with their wands of almost nine years grasped tightly in their laps.

"Would they have approved," one started, "of us leaving like that, even if we do have a dream and a plan?"

"Yes," the second smiled, "absolutely, zero doubt!"

* * *

_3 May 1998_

Zero doubt, that life could ever be the same; that one was much, much less than half of two; that the price of freedom was far too great a cost; that the three faces guarding the lone, slightly cracked, wand would ever allow him to fill the hole in his soul.

_Two became four, and all too soon four became two again._

_But when two became one, well, one might as well be none._

* * *

**A/N: **First Published 16/03/2013 after being inspired to write the tale of Fred and George's wands by TeddyLupin-Snape's "The Wand Chooses the Wizard" Challenge on HPFC. My response doesn't exactly fit the challenge, but I still wanted to draw attention to my inspiration.


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